This story is inspired by the song 'tis the damn season, by Taylor Swift. This chapter inspired by lyrics from her songs: Death By A Thousand Cuts, Fortnight, ivy, illicit affairs, Don't You, The Moment I Knew, long story short, time to go as well as the playlists she created prior to the release of TTPD with her songs sorted by the Five Stages of Grief.
"Oomph. Thanks." I mumbled, trying to straighten up and recover my balance. Jesus, how embarrassing. I'd been gone for a year and managed to survive all on my own, but I'm back here for two days and already he has to rescue me, from myself no less. I regained my footing, but Ranger still held onto me, just an arm's length away. He smelled amazing as usual, even after a whole day's work. Through the layers of fabric that separated our skin, I could still feel the sensation of the electric current that ran through me whenever we touched. A large part of me wanted to take a step towards him, put us chest to chest, and wrap my arms around him. It would be so easy to tuck my body into his and allow the shelter of his embrace to block out everything else, taking us both to a place where only the two of us existed. Call it muscle memory, familiarity, or longing, the pull to do just that was almost overpowering. It wouldn't be the first time I'd indulged in the temptation. From the time I'd stormed out of his apartment to the day I'd stepped on the plane, we'd sought each other out multiple times, seeking comfort in each other's bodies. When the need was too powerful to resist, we gave in to the desire to connect with the one who understood and accepted the other for who they were. But the price for the indulgence was steep. Ultimately, it cost me everything, most of all my self-respect.
Three weeks after Ranger ended things between us, he showed up in my bedroom in the middle of the night. I wasn't sleeping well anyway, not yet used to being alone in bed, it felt too big without his body to anchor me. To say I was shocked by his appearance would be an epic understatement. I hadn't seen him since that night. Supposedly he'd left town the next day. Last week I'd seen Tank at the bonds office and he mentioned Ranger was back. If he expected a reaction out of me he must have been disappointed. I'd perfected my own mask, not blank, but unbothered. My partnership with Hector was still new, but I'd seen him that morning and he'd made no mention of Ranger's return and hoped it was an indicator of how things would continue between us. I didn't need to know Ranger's business and didn't want him to know mine. I hadn't gone so far as to remove my trackers, they'd saved my ass too many times for me to be that careless. Besides, the way we left things, I didn't see him keeping close tabs on me anyway, unless he was using my location to avoid running into me since he'd been back, which was entirely possible.
When I woke at 2:00 am, I immediately knew I wasn't alone. There was also no doubt as to who it was. Laying on my stomach, I didn't even lift my head to ask him. "What do you want?" My voice was hard and unwelcoming. The question was met with silence. I waited for a response and when none came, I rolled over to face him. He was sitting in the chair in the corner by my closet. Before meeting him, the chair had been a landing spot for random pieces of clothing- things I'd worn once, maybe even for a few hours, items not dirty enough to wash, but that hadn't made it back to the drawer or closet. That was before Ranger. Sometime after the incident with Stiva, I would wake to find him sitting there, watching me sleep. From then on I kept it clear and came to think of it as his chair. It was still empty and waiting for him, I hadn't had the heart to start dumping clothes in it again.
I stared at him, waiting for him to say something. The minutes ticked by, neither of us speaking. His face was in shadow, but then headlights from a car turning onto my street washed over him. A gasp escaped me as I took in his appearance. He sat staring at me, his eyes full of pain, the rest of his face blank. If that wasn't jarring enough, the whole left side of his face was covered in blood. In an instant I was out of bed and standing in front of him, my hands moving over his body looking for the wound. I couldn't speak, too busy fighting back tears. Finally breaking out of his trance, Ranger grabbed my hands. His voice was hoarse, "It's not mine. Not most of it anyway." My breath came out in a whoosh. I was dizzy with relief. He didn't say any more, seemingly lost. I'd seen him in countless situations that were violent and bloody. I'd never seen him react like this. He came to me because he needed me and no matter how angry I was with him, I didn't even consider sending him away. I was afraid to ask whose blood it was for fear it would send him over the edge. He was like a wounded animal, confused and hurting and I didn't want to do anything to cause him to lash out or send him deeper into whatever internal battle he was in.
He allowed me to pull him out of the chair and into the bathroom. Flicking on the light I fought to catch my breath as I got my first good look at him. The sight of all that blood made me queasy, but I pushed it aside. He stood absolutely still in the middle of my bathroom, his big body dwarfing the small space. It wasn't like he hadn't been in her before, but tonight he seemed larger than life. To anyone else, he would have looked menacing, but I could see him struggling to maintain control, needing someone to take care of him for once. I could do that. I was still mad as hell, but I could set that aside. Just because he was an ass didn't mean I didn't love him. My heart ached to see him hurting and at the same time, something in me warmed, he came to me, knowing I would be there for him. Hope flickered in my chest.
Unbuckling his utility belt, I laid it across the back of the toilet before dropping to my knees, removing his ankle holster, backup gun, and the knife he had tucked into his other boot. Laying them on top of his other weapons, I started to undress him looking for any wounds that he was too numb to notice. He continued staring straight ahead, not even wincing when I'd turned on the light, it was like he was there, but he wasn't. He let me pull his shirt off over his head, raising his arms when I needed him to, even though the movement didn't seem to register with him. After I had the shirt over his head, his arms fell heavy against his sides again. The whole left side of the t-shirt was saturated with blood. It had started to dry, it couldn't have felt good when I pulled it off. I didn't know what had happened, but obviously it wasn't good so I threw the shirt into the trash instead of the hamper. I poured over every inch of his neck, chest, and torso, not sure if some of his blood was mixed in and he was just too out of it to notice. There were several cuts, but nothing too deep and nothing that accounted for that amount of blood. I dropped to my knees again, unlacing his boots, and slipping them off, along with his socks. Each time I needed him to lift his foot, I had to put my hand on his calf and lift up as he still wasn't tracking what was happening. I unbuttoned and unzipped his cargos before sliding them down his legs, checking them for bullet holes and tears. I didn't find any. There was blood spatter here and there, but nothing like his shirt but I threw them in the trash anyway.
Turning the shower on so the water could warm up, I slipped off my tank top and boy shorts. I tested the water before stepping in, pulling Ranger in after me. He let me move him to stand under the spray where I washed away all the blood from his hair and body, going over everything twice. He still hadn't spoken since the one sentence in my bedroom, but as I finished the second rinse of his hair he reached out, pulling me to him, tucking me into his chest, almost crushing me. As he held me, I felt him return from whatever hellish place he'd traveled to in his mind. When the water cooled, I wiggled out of his embrace and shut it off before grabbing us each a towel. He'd regained enough awareness to efficiently dry himself before throwing it into the hamper. Taking my towel, he dried me off in the same manner before tossing it on top of his. Then he scooped me up bridal style and strode back into my room, placing me back in my bed before climbing in next to me. Pulling me to him, his lips sought mine, as his hands roamed my body. His movements were barely controlled, like he worried if he stopped for even a moment I might disappear. When we'd been together in the past, I'd always felt wanted, he'd never hidden his desire for me, but this wasn't about want, this was about need. Before things got too out of control he pulled back, using his hand to brush an errant curl from my face. He studied me for a minute, asking for consent. I gave it without hesitation. Rather than speak or nod, I reached out, cupping his cheek before moving my hand to the back of his neck and pulling him to me, kissing him hard. He was hurting in a way I'd never seen before, I was terrified for him and desperate to do what I could to ease his pain. When my lips touched his, any restraint he was holding onto was gone. His hands and mouth were everywhere, seemingly at once. He was unable to settle anywhere long enough for me to reach my peak, but that was by design. By the time he finally slid inside me, the ache in my body echoed his own.
When I woke the next morning he was gone. No note, no call, no text, even his bloody clothes were gone. If it wasn't for the indent in his pillow and the smudge of blood on the bottle of shampoo I would have thought I dreamed the whole thing. It wouldn't have been the first time. In the last few weeks, my subconscious conjured up some elaborate fantasies of him realizing his mistake and coming back to me. But I could never imagine something as horrific as the truth. Later, I found out at the bond's office that a Federal takedown Rangeman had been contracted for had gone bad. The skip had taken his 6-year-old daughter hostage. Ranger rescued her from the closet he'd locked her in. He'd taken off his flak vest and put it on her for protection, but while carrying her to safety the skip shot her in the head; she died in Ranger's arms. He'd been so stunned that the skip would have killed him too if Tank hadn't been quick enough to put him down.
Just as I was leaving the office, Ranger and Tank pulled up out front. I stood next to their car while I waited for him to emerge. Tank read the situation and headed into the office to give us some privacy. Ranger's body was tense, his demeanor cold. I of course didn't heed the warning. I spoke softly, hesitant, "How are you?"
His face was blank, for a second I thought maybe he hadn't heard me. "I'm fine."
I ignored his attitude, knowing he still had to be coming to grips with the horror. In the same voice, I said, "You can't be fine. Last night you were a mess, you were catatonic. The pain doesn't go away just because you want it to. Talk to me. Let me help you."
Again, he acted as if he hadn't heard me, but finally responded, his voice all hard edges, "I said I'm fine. I don't need your help."
Now I was getting pissed, "You're not fine. You've come to my rescue so many times, let me help you. You needed me last night. It meant…"
He cut me off, "It didn't mean anything. I don't need anyone. Nothing's changed." It would have hurt less if he'd slapped me across the face. My stomach clenched as a knot formed in my throat. I would not cry, I would not cry, I would not cry. He walked away without a backward glance. I hurried to my car and got the hell out of there before I lost it. I made it three blocks before I had to pull into the parking lot of a dentist's office, crying so hard I couldn't see to drive. Throwing the door open before I even put the car in park, I wretched, sick from the shock and the heartache. After I emptied my stomach I shut the door and sat with my arms wrapped around myself, ugly crying and rocking back and forth in an effort to comfort myself. That was the first time I'd allowed him to return to my bed, but unfortunately, it wasn't the last.
The sharp pain of the memory jarred me back to reality. The pull to step into his embrace was strong, but I resisted and stepped back instead, putting much-needed space between us. Reluctantly, he let me go. I was unnerved by my flashback and his presence here. I wondered why he was here. How did he know I was here? Without thinking I asked, "Are you still tracking me?" Did he place a GPS tracker on my rental car? I felt a ridiculous urge to search my clothes for transmitters. Just the idea of it pissed me off. My job didn't put me in danger anymore and I was not his problem.
He held his hands up in surrender, "No. No tracking devices." I narrowed my eyes, not quite believing him. "I'm not tracking you. I was out driving and saw you on the swings."
I was doubtful, "You were just out driving?" I asked as I checked my watch, "At 12:30 in the morning?" He nodded. I pressed further, "In the Burg?"
He dropped his head and looked at his boots for a beat before returning his eyes to mine. "I come here sometimes. When I'm really missing you, I come here and remember. I think about the times we were here together before I fucked everything up." Both of my eyebrows shot up at his admission. He ignored my reaction and continued, "So I'm not stalking or tracking you. I couldn't sleep, so I came here to be close to you." If my eyebrows arched any higher, they could build a McDonalds on my face.
"You miss me?" I couldn't help but blurt out. I knew he did, I just couldn't believe he was admitting it.
His head shot up and he glared at me. "Yes, I miss you." he gritted out.
"Okay." I replied.
Apparently, that wasn't the response he wanted. He insisted, "I told you I missed you yesterday."
I calmly responded, "No, you said it was good to see me." I wasn't sure why I was needling him. Well, I did know why. It was because he deserved it.
"It's the same thing," he maintained.
I shook my head, "No, it's not. You can be glad to see someone and not have missed them. It can be nice to run into someone you went to elementary school with, but that you'd completely forgotten about until you saw them again."
He growled, "I didn't forget about you. I missed you. I thought about you every fucking day."
"Okay," I responded again. It was an odd feeling, I was calm, cool, and collected while he struggled to keep his composure. The petty part of me enjoyed it immensely.
His voice rose, "You don't believe me?"
"I didn't say that." I was proud of myself for keeping my answers brief, and not falling back into the habit of talking just to fill the space. In the past it always led to me sharing too much, allowing him the luxury of needing to share very little. He tried to hide his irritation, but I saw it. While he could hide his emotions from almost everyone, I knew him. I saw beneath the surface and he didn't like it. It unnerved him and I knew it was a big part of why he pushed me away.
He exhaled, clearly frustrated, "You had to know I missed you."
I scoffed, my restraint slipping just a little, "How would I know? Because you called me or texted me to let me know? Sent me flowers? Showed up on my doorstep? I haven't spoken to you in nearly a year. So tell me how you thought I would know?"
He tried turning it back on me, "Before you left, you made it very clear that you wanted me out of your life. I respected your wishes and now you're upset with me because of it?"
"First of all, I didn't want you out of my life. I very much wanted you in my life. I wanted to share my life with you. But that's not what you wanted." He tried to interrupt me, but I held up my hand to stop him, I needed to get this out. Taking a deep breath, I willed myself to keep my voice steady, "What you did to me, what I let you do to me was killing me. Each time you came to me, I let myself think it would be different, this time it would be different. I thought you'd accept that you needed me in your life. But every time you walked away it was another stab to my heart. It was death by a thousand cuts. So I had to go, I had to walk away. I love you and it was ruining my life."
The flash of guilt and pain that crossed his face shocked me. I knew he'd felt it, but he'd never let me see it, not that he was consciously doing so now. I'd had a year to process what had happened between us and my choosing to leave. I hadn't gotten past it, but I was able to speak about it now without getting so caught up in my own feelings that I couldn't recognize his.
His voice was low, apologetic, "It wasn't about want, I've always wanted you. I'll never not want you. I love you, more than you'll ever know." His admission broke my heart all over again, because deep down I knew the truth of the matter, even if I'd been lying to myself for the last 12 months.
I gave voice to what I was certain of, "But it doesn't matter does it?" He just stared at me. "It doesn't matter because, for you, it changes nothing. That's not what you want in your life. In fact, I think that because you want me, need me, love me makes you resent me. You think it gives me some sort of control or power over you and that terrifies you." I took a deep calming breath before continuing, unable to keep the sadness out of my voice anymore, "There's some fatal flaw in you that makes you long to be magnificently cursed, and your choices have sentenced me to the same fate." I think he was stunned. I'd never been able to verbalize how I truly felt about the whole thing. I was proud of myself, but wasn't sure I could keep up this front much longer. Just being near him, I was pulled back into his orbit, drawn to him. If I stayed too long my defenses would give way, for him, I would ruin myself a million little times. I already had. I couldn't let it happen again. I needed to get out of here, otherwise I'd let him talk his way back into my bed or I was going to dissolve into a puddle of tears and I refused to let him see that. So I pressed on, anxious to get this over with. "You said yesterday that you wanted to talk to me. What was it you wanted to say?"
His eyes softened just a bit, "I wanted to say I missed you and…"
I cut him off, needing to set some boundaries, "Whatever it is, don't say you've missed me if you don't want me again. All of me. You don't know how much I love you still. So you don't get to say that to me."
He at least had the decency to look ashamed, "I don't want to go another year before I see you again, talk to you. I think about you all the time. There have been so many times something crazy happened and I'd think to myself, I can't wait to tell Steph about this. Or times something fucked up happened and I've wanted to call you, just to hear your voice or hear you laugh to make life not so shitty. But then I'd remember I couldn't because I fucked it all up. I made a huge mistake, actually, a million mistakes, one after another. He took a breath to steady himself, "I never meant to hurt you and I'm sorry. It kills me. I need to fix it, make things right between us, if I don't, I don't think I can live with myself. I've made us both miserable. It doesn't have to be like this. Let me fix it." For the first time in what felt like forever a flame of hope lit in my chest. He pleaded, "I want, no I need my best friend back."
Oh god. I was going to be sick. I wanted to die. I wanted to crumble into dust and let the wind take me away from all the pain. My voice trembled, I couldn't help it, "You want us to be friends?" He nodded. I was stunned, crushed by the sinking feeling that threatened to engulf me. The edges of my vision started to blur, and that was the moment I knew. I needed to get away, I needed to be alone because now I knew. I finally recognized what I'd been doing for the last year. I'd been in denial. I was simply waiting, trying to convince myself that it wasn't really over between us. Deep down I thought, I hoped, I prayed that if I left, he'd realize how much he needed me in his life and he'd change his mind. Oh my god, I was such a fool.
I took a long look at him, trying to find any evidence that this was what he really wanted. But what I saw was the complete opposite. I could read the want, the desire, the sheer agony written plainly on his face. I felt the hum of electricity that ran between our bodies that caused my neck to tingle when he was nearby. I heard the other half of my heart beating in his chest, but none of it mattered. Not to him. Not even the fact that the knife cut both ways. He was hurting himself, but he was killing me.
I swallowed the sob that threatened to escape and nodded, "Okay." I don't know what he expected me to say, but that wasn't it. Did he think I would rant and rave, throw a fit, kick him in the balls? I wanted to do all of those things. That's what old Steph would have done, I told myself and you're not her anymore. What good would it do me? He actually looked a little sick at my quick acceptance. Of course, I had no intention of being his friend, but he didn't need to know that. I was going back to California and make a life for myself. I was going to work my way through the other four stages of grief. I was no longer in denial and had a pretty good start on the second stage, anger. I might just skip over bargaining because depression was looming large on the horizon and the thought of reaching acceptance made me want to wretch.
As the silence hung between us, I focused on the small clouds that came out in puffs, our warm breath meeting the frigid air. I hadn't noticed before how cold it was out. Suddenly I was frozen to the core, as the last flame of hope inside me was extinguished. I shivered and began rubbing my hands up and down my arms to generate some warmth. I felt that old familiar body ache, the snaps from the same little breaks in my soul. I knew it was time to go. My teeth chattered as I made my escape, "It's getting cold, and my mom will be worried. I've got to go." Not giving him a chance to object, I hurried to my car. Not bothering to wait for the heater to warm up, I pulled away from the curb. I'd thought maybe he'd come after me, but he was still standing in the same spot, watching me leave. I let out a sob at the ridiculous Christmas Carol that popped into my head, changing it to fit our situation: Babe, It's Cold Outside.